The Lady in Red & Dangerous Deception

by Linda Turner

  Turning back toward the mirror, she caught sight of herself again and winced. What had ever possessed her to wear red? It made her look…hot. Lord, she had to change!

  But before she could even think about going through her closet for something more subdued, the doorbell rang and time ran out. Her heart jumping into her throat, she froze, every instinct she possessed urging her to run.

  Why don’t you tell him the real reason you don’t want to go with me? You’re chicken.

  She stiffened, heat spilling into her cheeks. What was she doing? she wondered, disgusted with herself. She wasn’t afraid of Blake Nickels or the feelings he stirred in her. After all, it wasn’t as if they were even going out on a real date. For most of the evening, they would be seated at separate tables and she wouldn’t even have to look at him if she didn’t want to. So what was she getting into such a stew for? He was basically giving her a ride, nothing more. She could handle that—and him—with one hand tied behind her back.

  Or so she thought until she opened the front door and caught sight of Blake Nickels in a tux.

  No man had a right to look so mouth-wateringly good in formal wear. Or so comfortable. He should have been pulling at his collar or at the very least grimacing at the fit of the rented tux, but instead, he looked like he’d just stepped off the cover of GQ. Relaxed, one hand casually buried in the pocket of his black slacks, he grinned down at her with that familiar devilish sparkle in his green eyes and had no idea what he did to her heart rate. Stunned, Sabrina knew she was staring, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. How could she have ever thought this man was just an average Joe?

  His grin suddenly tilting boyishly, he glanced down at himself and patted his bow tie. “What? Have I got this thing on crooked, or what?”

  “No, I…” Unable to stop herself, she reached up and straightened his tie. When her eyes lifted to his, something passed between them, something hot and intimate and private. A wise woman would have stepped back then and run for cover, but she couldn’t seem to make herself move. Her pulse was skipping, her legs less than steady. And he hadn’t even touched her.

  Her breath lodging in her throat, she struggled for a light tone, but her voice was revealingly husky when she said, “You know, Nickels, you clean up real good when you put your mind to it.”

  He should have come back at her with a smart remark that would have eased the tension sizzling in the air between them, but his brain was in a fog and had been ever since she opened the door to him. He’d expected her to be dressed up—formal wear was required for the banquet—but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of her in that dress. There was nothing the least bit risqué about it, but it made him think of satin sheets and candlelight and touching her everywhere.

  She’d put her hair up, confining her usually wild curls in a sophisticated, provocative style so that only a few wisps tumbled down to sweep the nape of her bare neck. Lord, how he envied those curls! His fingers curling into fists to keep from reaching for them, he dragged his eyes away from her hair and immediately regretted it. Her skin was like the silk of her dress, soft and smooth. The rich fabric hugged her breasts and waist, revealing every curve before flaring out to a full, flirty skirt that fell to just below her knees. A man could spend hours just wondering what she had on underneath it.

  His mouth suddenly as dry as west Texas, he said hoarsely, “Thanks. You don’t look half bad yourself. Ready to go?”

  She nodded. “Just let me get my purse and lock up.”

  He waited for her on the porch, then escorted her to where he’d parked his pickup at the curb. When he opened the passenger door for her, Sabrina stopped in surprise, her eyes impish as they lifted to his. “Why, Blake, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” he retorted, flashing a wicked smile at her. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, sweetheart.”

  They were both grinning when he closed the door and walked around to the front of the truck to climb behind the wheel. But the second he slid in beside her and started the motor, their smiles faded. In the close confines of the pickup cab, they weren’t touching, but they might as well have been. Scents, tantalizing and sexy, mingled and teased, and every time one of them moved, the other felt it deep inside. It was only five miles to the convention center, but it seemed like a hundred.

  Breathless, her palms damp and every nerve ending attuned to Blake’s nearness, Sabrina should have been relieved when they finally reached the banquet hall. The place was already packed, crowded with reporters and newspaper publishers from all over the country. And somewhere in the mass of humanity, her boss and the rest of the Daily Record staff were waiting for her to join them. But instead of hurrying off when it was time for them to part, she found herself reluctant to leave Blake.

  “Well,” he said as she hesitated at the entrance, “I guess this is it. I’ll meet you here after this shindig’s over.” Suddenly noticing her silence, he frowned down at her. “Hey, you okay?”

  Forcing a smile, she moved closer to him as the crush of people coming through the doorway jostled them. “I just don’t care for this sort of thing. In fact, I wouldn’t be here now if you hadn’t dared me.”

  “Don’t blame me.” He chuckled. “It’s not my fault you rose to the bait like a trout after a fly. Anyway, what are you worried about? I know the guys you’re up against for the best crime story, and they can’t hold a candle to you.”

  Surprised, she smiled. “My, my, Nickels, that sounds an awful lot like a compliment. Are you sure you’re feeling all right? You must be coming down with something.”

  He grinned in appreciation and caught her hand before she could feel his forehead for a temperature. “Don’t let it go to your head. You’ll win. This year. Next year’s a different matter. Then you’ll be competing against me, and I’ll warn you right now, I like to win.” Giving her hand a squeeze, he dropped it and urged gruffly, “Go on and find your table before your boss sees you standing here holding my hand. I’ll see you back here in a couple of hours.”

  Sabrina could have pointed out that he was the one who’d been holding her hand, but honesty forced her to admit that she’d started it by trying to touch him first. And she wanted to do it again. Color stealing into her cheeks, she stepped away from him while she still could. “Okay, okay. But we’re going to talk about this later, Nickels. You’re not the only one who likes to win.”

  She found the Daily Record staff at a large table near the stage at the far end of the room and wasn’t surprised when her attire drew a few friendly wolf whistles. Most of the crew had never seen her in anything more sensuous than a business suit, and she took their ribbing in her stride. Then the master of ceremonies, a well-known television news journalist, stepped up onto the stage, and the awards ceremony began.

  He was an entertaining speaker, but the awards were what everyone was waiting for, so he quickly got to them. Reporters from all over the country were nominated for everything from the best entertainment column to best obit, with each category divided into subcategories based on the size of the newspaper. With nominations restricted to work done over the course of the past year, Blake was up for sports coverage he’d done for the Hidalgo County Gazette in Lordsburg, New Mexico, while Sabrina competed with other police-beat reporters from larger papers.

  She hadn’t lied when she’d told him she didn’t care for awards. It was the tracking down of stories and the writing itself she enjoyed, not the accolades of her peers, but when Blake’s category came up and he was announced as the winner, she was thrilled for him. Sitting back in her seat, she found herself smiling as he strolled up to the microphone with an easy grace she couldn’t help but admire. Relaxed and at ease, he joked with the crowd, then eloquently thanked the association for the honor.

  Then it was her turn. Just as Blake had predicted, she was the winner. Unlike her date, she didn’t shine at public speaking, so she kept her thanks short and sweet and got off the stage a
s quickly as she could. Back at her table, Fitz and the other reporters from the Record gave her high-fives and hugs, then it was time to party.

  She should have stayed right where she was and celebrated with her friends until it was time to leave—but the only person she wanted to celebrate with was Blake. Later, she knew that was going to worry her, but for now, all she could think of was finding him in the crowd.

  With the ceremony itself over, people were milling about, renewing old friendships, congratulating winners and commiserating with losers, and it seemed like everywhere she turned, someone wanted to talk to her. Struggling to hang on to her patience, she finally reached the Times table, but he was nowhere in sight.

  Seeing her frustration, Vivian Berger, a crusty old gossip columnist who made a healthy living out of knowing who was seeing whom around town, grinned at her knowingly. “Well, hello, Ms. Jones. You looking for Blake?”

  Sabrina didn’t ask her how she knew—the woman had eyes in the back of her head and had probably seen them come in together. Cursing the color that spilled into her cheeks, she said casually, “As a matter of fact, I was. I thought I’d congratulate him on his win.”

  “Then you’re going to have to get in line,” the old lady said with a cackle, gesturing behind her. “He’s right over there.”

  Turning, Sabrina expected to see him accepting the backslaps and handshakes of the other sports writers he’d beat out for the award. Instead, she found him in the arms of another woman.

  Chapter 6

  She wasn’t the possessive type. She never had been. When it came to men, she didn’t get jealous or catty; it just wasn’t in her. She’d caught Jeff talking to attractive women dozen of times during their short-lived marriage, and she’d never even lifted a brow—not because she hadn’t cared, she’d assured herself at the time, but because she’d trusted him. But the man hugging the pretty redhead across the room wasn’t Jeff. It was Blake, and for some reason she didn’t want to examine too closely, that made all the difference. Something that felt an awful lot like jealousy slammed into her, knotting her gut and heating her blood, stunning her. This wasn’t even a date; she was hardly entitled to an explanation, she reminded herself. But that didn’t stop her from taking a step toward them anyway.

  Before she reached them, however, someone in the crowd stepped around her, jostling her and bringing her back to earth with a thud. Mortified, she stopped in her tracks. What in the world was she doing? She had no claim to Blake and didn’t want one. He was a free agent and could hug a dozen women for all she cared—it was nothing to her.

  Then why are your eyes green right now, Sabrina? a mocking voice whispered in her head. You’d like to scratch that woman’s eyes out and you know it.

  God, she had to get out of there!

  But before she could turn away, Blake looked over the woman’s shoulder and saw her. He grinned broadly, murmured something to his companion, then he was hurrying toward Sabrina. “There you are! I was just going to come look for you.” Surprising her, he swept her into a bear hug. “Congratulations, Jones. I knew you could do it.”

  He was so exuberant, she couldn’t help but smile. With his arms tight around her, squeezing her close, all she could think of was how good it felt to be held by him again. Then she caught the faint scent of perfume that clung to his tux jacket—perfume that belonged to the redhead he’d hugged just seconds ago. Unable to stop herself, she stiffened.

  “Congratulations to you, too.” Suddenly needing to get out of there, to think, she quickly drew back. “The party looks like it’s going to drag on awhile and you probably have a lot of friends you want to talk to—”

  “Yeah, I do,” he cut in, grinning down at her. “The whole gang’s here from New Mexico, and I didn’t even know they were coming. C’mon, I want you to meet them.” Not giving her a chance to object, he grabbed her hand and dragged her through the crowd after him.

  And before Sabrina was quite ready for it, she found herself face-to-face with the redhead. Up close and personal, she was just as beautiful as Sabrina had feared. Dressed in a pale mint-green sheath of a dress that showed off her petite figure to perfection, she was positively glowing. And she didn’t seem to mind in the least that Blake had left her to return with another woman. Her smile friendly, her big blue eyes alight with expectation, she waited patiently for him to make the introductions.

  “Sabrina, this is Sydney O’Keefe Cassidy. We used to work together at the Gazette in Lordsburg,” Blake confided with a grin.

  “Actually, he used to pester the H out of me,” Sydney corrected, her blue eyes dancing as she shook hands with Sabrina.

  “I was just keeping you in line until Dillon came along,” Blake retorted, and nodded to the tall, lean man who stood behind Sydney, towering protectively over her. “The big guy there is Dillon Cassidy, Sydney’s husband,” he told Sabrina. “God only knows why, but he’s crazy about her.”

  A slow smile stretched across Dillon’s square-cut, good-looking face. “I think it’s the red hair—”

  Huffing, Sydney said, “It’s not red—”

  “It’s strawberry blond,” her husband and Blake said together, laughing. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, Sabrina,” Dillon said, smiling down at her. “I don’t know what plans you two have for the rest of the evening, but we were talking about getting out of here and partying on the River Walk. I hope you’ll come with us.”

  “Hey, that’s a great idea,” Blake said, grinning. “Let’s go.”

  Sabrina hesitated, wanting to go, but knowing she didn’t dare. Not after the jealousy that had sunk its claws into her. And over a married woman, too—a friend who was obviously very much in love with her husband. How, dear God, had this happened? When had she begun to think of Blake as hers? She had to be out of her mind!

  Hanging back, she immediately drew a frown from Blake. “You go ahead,” she told him huskily. “I’m sure the three of you have a lot to catch up on, and I’ve got to be at work early in the morning. I’ll just call a cab—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Blake said. “I’ll get you home before midnight. I promise.” The matter settled, he linked his fingers with hers and pulled her outside after him.

  It was a beautiful night. The heat of the day had passed, and a lover’s moon lit up a clear sky filled with stars. Not surprisingly, the River Walk was packed with summer tourists and locals who were drawn to the music and lights and the cooling breeze that rippled over the slow-moving water of the San Antonio River as it wound its way through downtown.

  Walking hand in hand with Blake, Sabrina felt as if she’d stepped into a dream and any second now, she was going to wake up. She hadn’t even planned to go out with him, yet here she was on what was virtually a double date with him and the Cassidys. And in spite of the voice murmuring in her ear that she was going to regret this, she was having too much fun to even think about calling it a night.

  Any reservations she had about Sydney had died the second her husband stepped forward to claim her, and it hadn’t taken Sabrina long to realize that she and the other woman had a great deal in common. Sydney, too, was an investigative reporter who, according to her husband and Blake, didn’t know the meaning of the word fear. She had once worked in Chicago, covering the crime beat, as Sabrina did in San Antonio, and had some fascinating tales to tell. Chatting like old friends, they could have talked for hours if the men hadn’t interfered.

  “No shoptalk,” Dillon said as they finally got a table at the Hard Rock Cafe, which was packed to the rafters. “This isn’t a night for blood and guts.”

  “Dillon’s right,” Blake agreed. “We came here to party. C’mon, Jones, I want to dance.”

  And with no more warning than that, he pulled her out onto the dance floor. Chagrined, Sabrina stood flat-footed in front of him and felt like a duck out of water as the crowd gyrated around them to the heavy beat of the ten-year-old hit blaring on the speakers. There were a lot of things she could do well, but dancing w
asn’t one of them. She loved music, but she just couldn’t loosen up enough to move in time with it.

  But Lord, she hated to admit it. Especially to someone who appeared to dance as well as Blake. His body already starting to languidly move in time to the beat, he looked as if he didn’t have a bone in his body. Just watching him made her mouth go dry. Embarrassed color stinging her cheeks, she reached up to slip a hand behind his neck and pull his head down so he could hear her over the throb of the music. “There’s something you should know about me, Nickels.”

  Casually draping his arms around her, he smiled down into her eyes. “What’s that, Jones?”

  “I’ve got two left feet.”

  His gaze, sparkling with amusement, dropped to her feet. “No, you don’t. You’ve got a lefty and a righty just like everybody else.”

  She grinned, she couldn’t help it, and struggled to give him a stern look. It wasn’t easy when his mouth was only scant inches away from hers and he was so close that she could almost feel his body swaying against hers. “Blake, I’m trying to be serious.”

  “Don’t,” he growled low in his throat as his arms tightened around her to pull her more fully against him. “You can be serious tomorrow. Tonight, let’s just…dance.”

  “But I can’t!”

  “Sweetheart, nobody who moves like you do has two left feet. Trust me. You’re doing fine.”

  She wasn’t—they both knew it—but when his voice turned all rough and deep and seemed to reach out and physically stroke her, warming the dark, secret recesses of her being, she found it impossible to care that she was a step behind everyone else on the dance floor. She was in his arms, her cheek pressed against his chest, with his heart knocking out its own erotic rhythm in her ear, and nothing else mattered. Like Cinderella, she was at the ball with a make-believe prince and it would all come crashing to a close at the stroke of twelve. For now, at least, she intended to enjoy herself.